Written 1 March 2019
Gretchin
I want to be desperately honest from the start. I didn't even want to come to this wedding. I've met the couple, what, three times? The girl, Katy, seemed sweet, but God only knows why she's with Tim, a man so bereft of personality he makes my partner seem like Freddy flipping Mercury in comparison.
We've only been together 17 months. Honestly, I don't know why I'm with him either. He often feels like a panic buy, like my mother's crusade to have grandchildren finally ground me down and I latched myself on to the first bloke with half-decent looks and a steady job. Admittedly, our kids would be pretty gorgeous, but if they're anything like him they'd also be bores. They'd dress as Harry Potter on world book day.
We drove up with Alice and Arthur. Arthur had his license suspended for running one too many red lights, so I sat up front with Alice listening to her drone on about Love Island, whilst Arthur and my beau sat in the back “pregaming” all the way to Devon. We had to stop three times for them to take a piss and to top up their supplies, leaving us minimum time to actually get ready.
We’re staying in a ‘quaint’ B&B with plenty of ‘character' meaning it hasn't been refurbed since the 70’s, and nothing works. The receptionist so obviously despises us she doesn't even bother to hide it, casting Arthur and my partner stern glances whilst they struggled to stand and Alice waffled on about how ‘gorgeous’ the place was, in that grinding home counties accent.
Our taxi is in a couple of minutes and things have taken a turn for the worse for my fella. He's lying face down on the bed butt naked snoring like an absolute champ. Honestly I want to be just about anywhere else. I think about retiring to the bar, buying the grouch behind the counter a couple of sherries and watching her rant.
But even if he's a fucking idiot I don't want him to miss his friends wedding, so I slap his bear ass as hard as I possibly can, and point his drunk, angry carcass to the shower.